Part 9

Mendoza, by this time quite livid, leaped from his chair, and without replying, left the room, reeling, and hastened to Miguel's study.

"What's the matter?" asked Rivera, seeing his friend's excitement.

"Nothing," replied Mendoza, in a feeble voice, dropping into an easy-chair, and covering his face with his hands,--"only my head is not safe on my shoulders!"

"That's what I have always told you; it is quite too big!"

"Let up on your jokes, Miguel! The thing is very serious. It is already known that I am hiding here in this house, and when it is least expected they will come and take me."

"Who told you all that?"

"Placida.... The shopkeeper down stairs knows all about it. Just imagine, who won't know it by this time!... I cannot stay here another day; I must find another retreat. The best way would be to leave Madrid."

Under other circumstances Miguel would have dissuaded him from this resolve, because he was perfectly convinced that his friend was in no danger in one place any more than in another; but for the reasons above suggested he took pains not to hinder him.

After a little discussion it was decided that Mendoza should make his escape that very afternoon, because they were more watchful at night, and might get wind of him. His idea was to-go to Las Ventas del Espiritu Santo disguised as a water-carrier, and from there, if there were danger, he would leave Madrid by the Northern Railway: Miguel agreed to get him a pass.

In fact, the water-carrier for the house sold him his suit, which was certainly not remarkably new or cleanly.

After spending an hour in making up his disguise, touching his cheeks with vermilion, dishevelling his hair, soiling his hands, etc., our revolutionist went to the library, with his cask on his shoulder, and stood before the looking-glass.

"I recognize myself!" he exclaimed, with such a look of anxiety that Miguel and Maximina laughed till their sides ached.

IX.

Miguel's cousin Enrique had at last succeeded in embracing the divine phantasm of glory in pursuit of which so many men run in vain. It was in the plaza of Vallecas, on the day of Our Lady of Carmen. The entertainment[24] had been organized at Madrid for the purpose of aiding some unfortunates suffering from a flood in the province of Valencia, and as he was one of the amateurs who liked to take part in sports of this sort, he was gallantly invited to thrust the _banderillas_ into the bull's shoulder--an honor which he declined.

The committee afterwards discovered the true inwardness of his not accepting, and after making certain calculations and combinations, they invited him once more to be the _estoqueador_,[25] and this time he did not hesitate to accept, seeing that his dignity was saved. It was less than a year since he had chosen the alternative.

And as we have already hinted, he had covered himself with glory, his rivals with envy, and the respectable family to which he belonged with honor, though its worthy head had a quite different idea of it.

After a battle he had the fortune to kill the bull with a superb lunge at a half-run, wetting his fingers, and entering and leaving the ring without a stain.

There was a perfect delirium of clapping, of waving cigars and hats; all the bull-fighting amateurs vied with each other in embracing him; he was carried triumphantly to his carriage, and sent back victorious to Madrid: on the next day the newspapers, in their reviews of the entertainment, raised him "to the very horns of the moon." _El Tabano_, a most dignified paper, dedicated exclusively to the interests of bull-fighting, declared that he showed _blood_ and _modesty_; and this eulogium, in spite of its brutality, for some reason or other made him stagger with delight.

He spent a feverish, wakeful night, though his soul was caressed by a thousand brilliant visions. When morning came, he gave himself up to cleaning his long knife, and while he was occupied in this most noble task, he had the ineffable satisfaction of receiving, on a silver salver from the committee, the ear of the bull which he had slain.

The servant, after receiving an unheard-of fee, told him, with his heart bowed low in admiration:--

"What immense pleasure, senorito! Tato was nothing to you!"

"Pish! You must not flatter, my dear; you must not flatter," replied Enrique, with affected modesty; "El Tato was a great bull-fighter!"

"But I tell you it is so, senorito! El Tato never came out of the ring with his cloak more unstained. You see I know what bulls is! Senor Paco (he is now in glory) has told me time and again, when he seen me with the horse in full gallop up to the very nose of the beast: 'Juanillo, my son, you've got the very blood of the bull-fighter. Dedicate yourself to the art which would be much more profitable to you than cleaning boots, and holding nags in the plaza.' 'But,' says I, 'Senor Paco, suppose I have a lady who gives me a good brushing down every Sunday, when I put on the red jacket?' 'Give her a lot of soft soap, my boy; if you wants to git along well with women, you've got to give 'em soft soap every day of your life and every other day too!' And the old man was right! If I had followed his advice, I should have been a different person.... I was the gent as brought you the mule when you fell; didn't you see me?"

"Yes.... I don't recollect very clearly, but it seems to me that I saw you on the plaza."

"Come now, if it hadn't been for me putting myself right on the horns of the bull, Don Ricardito would have been hooked yesterday afternoon at the second baiting.... Bad beast that was! They'd once before baited him in the village, so the pastor told me. That one of yourn, senorito, was a very lively little bull, very brave, and at the same time very gamy. Your stabbin' of him was very unusual."

"Pish! Perfectly regular, perfectly regular...."

"Magnificent, Don Enriquito! magnificent! Only it was a pity that you hurried the least leetle bit as you rode by him!"

"I hurried?" exclaimed Enrique, flushing. "Man alive! it seems to me you have about as good an idea of bull-fighting as the lining of my trousers!... Don't you dare to say that I hurried!"

His modesty, which was "only fastened with pins," was quickly lost. The servant, seeing the ill-effect of his criticism, was anxious to amend it.

"No; but certainly it was a superior skirmish; and it makes no difference whether it was done quick or slow."

"No matter at all; we have talked enough, and I don't care to hear any more such nonsense...."

And Enrique opened the door to let him out, and slammed it behind him, muttering:--

"The devil take the stupid fellow! Ricardito must have given him that idea about hurrying.... That rascal had better be ashamed of himself, and not let Felipe Gomez hold his bull by the leg."

And fully persuaded that the stain on his rival's honor could not be wiped out by all the perfumes of Arabia, he remained tolerably calm. The reading of the journals, and the presence of the bloody ear, mute witness of his courage, finally restored him to complete tranquillity.

But one thing afterwards occurred to disturb his peace of mind, and that was the way of preserving his trophy. If it were left in its present state, it would soon become offensive. Should he put it in alcohol? Then the hair would come off, and it would be turned into a piece of ugly gristle. Should he have it mounted? He would have to go out and make inquiries. He made up his mind to go immediately after dinner to Severini, the great taxidermist of San Jeronimo Avenue.

At dinner the talk turned on the bull-fight. Don Bernardo had already been informed by the newspapers of his son's prowess; and though secretly, at the bottom of his heart, he was flattered by the applause that he had won, he did not fail to appear stern, and to chide him, although not as severely as sometimes.

"Come now, Enrique, let this be the last time that you make a public exhibition of yourself in this way. You know that I do not like to have a son of mine play the role of _torero_, even though he do it well."

Enrique understood well that his father was not really angry, and was assured of the truth of the old adage, "Success pardons all dubious steps."

He lighted his cigar, wrapped the bloody ear in a rag, put it in his pocket, and went down into the street, directing his steps toward the Cafe Imperial, with the hope of there receiving fresh congratulations from his intelligent friends, and to spend the whole afternoon talking about the bull-fight of Vallecas: on the way he intended to call at Severini's.

It was half-past three, and pretty hot. Our lieutenant (for he had been promoted) was walking along the Calle del Bano, dressed in the latest style, in Prince Albert coat tightly buttoned up, light pantaloons, patent leather boots, and a sombrero with a peaked crown.

It was his idea to dress himself so in place of his ordinary "b'hoy's" fighting garb, so as to give greater force and relief to his portentous sword-thrust of the day before. He walked slowly, with the assured and overweening gait of a man satisfied with himself, casting keen glances at those whom he passed, to see if they recognized him, and puffing forth great clouds of smoke. Never had he felt so happy in body and mind.

At the door of a "dairy" a young girl was seated with a book in her hands. Enrique, as he passed, glanced at her, and the philanthropic feelings which he felt toward every living thing caused him to pause a moment and gaze at her with smiling eyes. The girl looked up with her big black eyes, the expression of which was half proud and half mischievous, and after staring at him for some time, she again gave her attention to her book, showing marked indifference.

Enrique stepped up in front of her, and stopped, saying in mellifluous accents:--

"What are you reading, my beauty?"

The girl again raised her eyes, and after staring at him sharply, replied:--

"_The Lives of the Four Rascals._"

And she dwelt long on the last word.

Enrique was a little confused, but he stood with the smile still on his lips. The girl again buried herself in her book. After a while she raised her head once more, and said vivaciously, in an ironical tone, in which her irritation was expressed:--

"Walk in, gent, walk in...."

"A thousand thanks, sweetheart," replied Enrique, entering the shop, and standing just behind the girl.

She turned around to look at him, with a haughty gesture, and said very gravely:--

"Man, I like you for your cheek!"

"And I like you for your sprightliness."

"Indeed! Since when?"

"Since I saw you from the corner of the street."

"Ay, how kind of you! And you knew as much as that, and kept it to yourself!"

"Why, whom could I tell it to?"

"To your grandmother, my son."

"I haven't any; my grandmother died when I was a baby."

"What a monkey!"

"No; I used to be homelier than I am now."

"Didn't your papa have to teach you during vacation?"

"I don't remember.... Zounds! Do you consider me so ugly?"

"Why should I deceive you?... Ugly? why you are uglier than sin!"

"Manolita,"[26] cried the fruit-woman from across the way, "when did you get up your awnings?"

"Just this very moment. How do you like them?"

"And so your name is Manolita?" asked Enrique

"No, siree; my name is Manuela."

"How witty and how delicious you are!"

"When did you ever taste me?"

Manolita was a _chula_ or "gal" in her behavior, in her gestures, in her dress, in the pronunciation of her words, and in all that she did; but she was a very charming _chula_; and that is no miracle, for there are girls like Alexandrine roses in these blessed streets of ours.

Her face was oval, rather pale; her eyes were black, with pink circles under them; her hair was also black, and she wore it in ringlets around the temples; her teeth were white and small, and set close together; her expression that mixture of grave and scornful which is natural to every _chula_ who has not as yet "gone to the dogs."

"Why did you say that you were going to finish your walk this moment?"

Enrique had not said any such thing.

"Before going I wish you would give me a glass of milk."

Manolita got up solemnly from the chair, leaving her book in it, and went to the counter, and without saying a word filled a glass with milk, put it on a plate, and set it on one of the three or four marble tables that were there; then seeing that Enrique did not sit down, but stood motionless in the middle of the shop, following all her movements, she paused suddenly, and said in that ironical tone that never left her lips:--

"Don't you want to drink it indoors, mister[27]?"

"I would not drink it in the house if you should give me five duros!"

"Well, my boy, you can't have it out of doors! Come now, let us pour it back into the jug; only don't get sick and have to be sent to the hospital."

No sooner said than done; she started straight for the jug; but Enrique detained her.

"I did not mean that, my beauty. In the house there might some harm happen to me; but here! here I seem to be in glory merely looking at you!"

"Senorito, you need lime juice and not milk!"

"May be!... How much is this?" he added, after he had drunk up the milk, and looking at Manolita with a smile.

"Not quite an _onza_."[28]

"How much?"

"Half a real."

He took a few coins out of his pocket, and as he put them into the _chula's_ hands, he suddenly felt himself attacked by a philanthropy that mounted toward enthusiasm for her. To manifest this feeling, so appropriate to the essence of human nature and the spirit and doctrine of Christianity which commands us to love our fellow-creatures, our lieutenant had nothing left to do except to give her a fond hug accompanied by a kiss fonder still. But before carrying out such a plausible scheme, he cast a cautious glance all around to assure himself that no one was coming to disturb this benevolent act, and previously he bristled up his mustaches as all good rat terriers are accustomed to do. When once he had thus completed his preparations--All ready! Go!

When the _chula_ found herself in the lieutenant's arms, she turned around as quick as a flash, tore herself away, let fly her hand, and _zas_! gave him a tremendous slap right in the nose.

We know that of old Enrique's nose had a curious magnetic influence over blows, and attracted them as metallic needles attract electric sparks. Let us record this, so that no one may think it remarkable that the buffet struck that delicate organ instead of any other region of his face.

Two jets of blood instantly gushed from his sufficiently capacious nostrils, which was proof positive that Manolita's hands were not made of wax, though they were handsomely shaped. At the sight of blood her courage became even fiercer, like a lioness of the desert, and it was a narrow escape that she did not tear him in pieces with a tin dipper, for she clutched it in her fists, and held it over him a long time.

"Ay, how 'diculous! What has got into me?... What were you thinking about, you lisping idiot?... You made a mistake, senor. I'll smash in your great goat face if you don't get out of here quicker'n a wink!..."

Enrique was wiping his nose with his handkerchief, murmuring:--

"_Diablo! Diablo!_ How you made it bleed!"

"I want to see you pack out of here, you rascal![29] you rrrascal! you rrrrrrrascal!" And each time that she repeated the word, she gave a more vigorous roll to the _r_, as though the preservation of her honor, endangered by the impudent lieutenant, depended on the proper pronunciation of this precious palatal.

"But first let me have a little water to wash my face.... I can't go out this way...."

"You'd better have some green lemon juice.... Clear out of here, you indecent wretch!"

The young woman stretched her right arm toward the door with so much dignity that it could not have been improved upon. Enrique, busy in cleaning off the blood and in looking with sorrow on the spots staining his handkerchief, could not appreciate the value of that haughty attitude which was worthy of Juno, Pallas, Cybele, or any other goddess of antiquity.

The mythological right hand, however, under the influence of compassion, was gradually beginning to bend, and after a few moments it was the very one that brought from the back room a jug full of water, and set it down on the marble table beside the fatal tumbler of milk which the "rascal" had but just drained.

Still it must not be imagined that this act in the least infringed on the dignity with which the handsome _chula_ had clothed herself: on the contrary, it made it more lustrous and illustrious. And while the lieutenant was washing his nose, carefully snuffling up the water, she, casting glances of Olympic scorn at his occiput and muttering threats, went and sat down once more at the door with her book in her hands.

The hemorrhage having been checked, after drying his face with his handkerchief the lieutenant left the shop; but as he passed by Manolita he had the impudence to say:--

"Good by, my beauty; I shall not lay it up against you."

It would be impossible for any one to conceive that Manolita lifted so much as her eyes, much more that she replied to him.

Enrique went to the Imperial with his nose rather red, possibly a little inflamed, but as happy as though nothing of the sort had occurred. The thought of the _chula_ and the buffet that she had given him was driven out of his head by the congratulations of the bull-fighters and a dispute that lasted all the afternoon as to whether it is permissible or not for the _espada_ to have a boy at the entrance to attract the attention of the bull when he charges at close quarters.

On the next day, however, when he left the house after breakfast, he remembered his adventure; instead of going up to town by the Prado, so as to take Prince Street, as his custom was, he entered the Calle del Bano the same as on the day before. He had taken but a step or two before he could discern at a distance Manolita's checked chintz and blue kerchief.

The lieutenant smiled, calling to mind only the pleasant part of yesterday's episode; it was one of his peculiarities to see all the things of this world in the most hopeful aspect.

"Ah, there is my little _chula!_ _caramba!_ if she isn't witty and saucy!"

And with a honied smile on his lips, he walked leisurely to the "dairy," puffing out vast volumes of smoke, and carrying himself like a man whose happiness cannot be disturbed by a buffet more or less.

When he came near the young woman, he stopped just as on the day before. The _chula_ looked up, and scanning him with angry eyes, said:--

"Have you come back for another?"

"If you are anxious to give me one...."

Enrique's dog-like face expressed such pure satisfaction, and had grown so fearfully ugly in expressing it, that the _chula_ could not prevent a smile breaking out on her face.

And bending over, so as not to compromise herself, she said:--

"Come, come, go your way."

"Don't be spiteful to me, Manolita, but forgive me!"

"That's a great note! I am not a priest to grant absolution!"

"But you can impose penance."

"No such thing! If I did, though, it would be with the dipper in such a way that you would not care to show your ugly phiz around here again."

"That could not be! I might lose my nose, but I could not lose my desire to see you; never!"

The _chula_, during this exchange of compliments, was becoming softened. Enrique, after respectfully asking permission, was allowed to enter the shop, and sit down to drink a tumbler of milk.

And in good fellowship and sociability, the lieutenant began to flirt with her in fine style, and the girl to answer him curtly, though she could not help feeling that it was rather good fun to be courted by a military gentleman.[30]

Enrique made himself liked by his frank and optimistic disposition. Manolita, finding him just as ugly as before, began to be attracted toward him.

"Why not tell the truth?" she said; "you are homely, but you have a _something_ ... come now!... peculiar."

"Yes, I know that," responded the lieutenant, gravely; "I am homely, but graceful."

"No, you aren't graceful either!" exclaimed the _chula_, laughing.

"Well, I am beginning to get into your good graces, if I am not graceful."

"That's so."

After they had got deeply interested in conversation, suddenly heavy and clattering steps were heard in the back shop, and a man, or, more accurately speaking, a one-eyed giant, appeared at the rear door in his shirt-sleeves, in gray woollen trousers, a red belt, and a flat Biscayan cap; his face was as ugly and frightful as that of his ancestors, the Cyclops.

After casting a grim look around the room, without seeing Enrique, or apparently not seeing him, he uttered several grunts, staggered toward the counter, and fixing his vitreous, angry eye on the polished silk hat which the lieutenant had laid on it, he picked it up gingerly in his monstrous hands, examined it curiously, like a naturalist who has just stumbled upon some new zooephyte, while something that tried to be a smile, but succeeded in being only a horrible grimace, vexed his thick, livid lips.

"Oj, oj, oj.... Trrr, trrr, trr.... Is there a marquis in my shop? blast him!"

And he flung another glance around the room without having any objective point for it, as though there were no living beings in it.

Then, with perfect calmness and care, as though he were performing one of the most delicate operations of art, he crushed the hat between his hands until he had made it as flat as a pancake; and having done this, he flung it through the door into the middle of the street with no less delicacy and care.

Enrique suddenly grew as red as a pepper; then instantly turned pale; he leaped hastily from his seat like a new David, full of the impulse to meet the Goliath in battle; but Manolita restrained him, making no end of expressive signs going to show that the giant was not at heart a stern man. Then Enrique left the shop, a very disgusted man.

"Father, the hat belonged to this gent, and he was a customer."

"Hold your tongue, you! Do you understand?"

And in order to reinforce the significance of his wish, he gave the girl a slap.

But Enrique heard neither the daughter's amiable explanation nor the father's gentle reply; all he thought of was to straighten out and arrange his hat.

"Catch me coming to this pigsty of a shop again!" he exclaimed, furiously clapping his hat on his head, and sweeping like the north wind up the street in search of a hatter.

X.

In fact, he did not return ... until the next day; but he went dressed _de corto_, that is to say, in short jacket, tight pantaloons, and sombrero.

"See here, senorito, are you going to the slaughterhouse to skin something?" asked Manolita, as soon as she saw him in that rig.

And then began their skirmish of love-making; he making use of all the honied words at his command, she replying to each loving phrase with a proud, tierce parry.

Enrique was not foiled by that, and he was right. By the example of her young girl friends and companions, and by her rude training, the _chula_ was armed with a tough bark full of thorns; but God knew well, and Enrique likewise knew, that at heart she was a poor girl, good, industrious, long-suffering, ignorant as a fish, and more innocent in certain respects than might have been supposed from her speech and behavior.

She had lost her mother about two years before; her sister had married a farmer, and lived out toward Las Vistillas. She herself lived with her father, who was a Vizcaino,[31] who had been established in Madrid for many years in a little house with two rooms facing the corral where the cows were kept.

She was a genuine Madrilena to the extent of never having even set foot on a railway train, or having in her walks gone farther than Carabanchel.